Drake of Tanith (Chosen Soul)

by Heather Killough-Walden

  Zeta’s smile turned impish. “You’re even smarter than I thought.”

  Raven let that one go. “Zeta, if you can open a portal anywhere, then can you send me to the Witherlands?” She held her breath, afraid of the answer.

  “I can – but I won’t,” replied Zeta.

  Raven’s breath leaked out in disappointment.

  “If you grant me this promise and I release you, Raven, then I will have too much invested in you to sacrifice you to the almost certain death you would face in the Witherlands.” She paused, considered Raven a moment, and then said, “I’m sorry. I am guessing you’d planned on going after Tanith.”

  Raven was silent for a moment more. And then she straightened and looked Zeta in the eyes. “If you help me escape this castle, I promise to ally myself with the Fae realm so long as you rein. However, I also promise that I will go after Drake of Tanith. Whether you like it or not.” She waited a beat, just as Zeta had done. “Take it or leave it.”

  Zeta sat up a little on the edge of the bed and looked down at Raven over the straight line of her nose. She inhaled slowly, and nodded to herself. “Very well.” She stood up and moved to a tall ornate mirror against one of the marbled walls of her vast chamber. She waved her hand before her own gorgeous reflection and the mirror glass shimmered, warped, and then disappeared altogether, revealing behind it a small alcove.

  “But I want you to have this,” she said to Raven over her shoulder. “Just in case.” She reached in and pulled out what looked like a bundle of clothing tied with shimmering silken rope. On top of the bundle rested a silver circlet.

  As Zeta brought the bundle and circlet around and Raven got a closer look, she could see that the silver band was too clear to be silver. It must have been gold or platinum. Its intricate winding knots were unlike any Raven had ever seen.

  “The cloak will disguise you when you need it most,” Zeta told Raven as she handed the bundle and circlet to her. “The circlet will protect your mind from the Witherlands’ influence.”

  Raven was under no misconception that this was a gift. She had learned a lot in the last few months of her life and now knew enough to accept that when someone powerful gave her something to help her survive, she should take it without question.

  She reached out and accepted the items without a word. Then she stood and Zeta stepped back, allowing her access to the still-swirling portal. However, before she could move toward it, Zeta rested a gentle hand on her upper arm.

  “Whatever you do,” she warned solemnly, “when in the Witherlands, don’t take the circlet off. In fact, it would be best to don both items right now.”

  Raven looked from Zeta to the shining, delicately woven circlet and back again. Then she shifted the bundle into one arm, took the metal band, and placed it on her head.

  It fit perfectly. Almost at once, Raven felt better for wearing it. She felt more free. The cloak came next, soft as silk and cool as satin. It settled upon her shoulders like a mantle and closed securely at the diamond-studded clasp.

  “I have your promise then, Princess Winter Raven of Caina?” Zeta asked, her tone serious, her eyes beseeching.

  One of the things Raven’s father had told her while she’d spent time in Caina a month ago was that it was not within a devil’s capacity to lie. That is, once an Abaddonian made a promise – locking him or herself into a verbal contract – that promise had to be kept. It wasn’t a simple obligation. It was a compulsion that would ride the devil at all times, ensuring that the promise not be broken.

  It was what Zeta was counting on.

  Raven waited half a second. “I promise.”

  Chapter Six

  Drake stumbled through the forest, resting against one tree after another, desperately trying to remain conscious long enough to put some real distance between himself and the portal that had brought him here.

  He felt it all around him now, his father’s presence. His influence. For thousands of years, he’d been running from his lineage. But Asmodeus was right. There was nowhere in the realms that Drake could go to escape his past or his blood. Where did he think he was running to? It was pointless.

  Laughter followed him to the next tree, wrapping around him like silk cords, strangling the strength from his normally strong body. Drake gritted his teeth. He shook his head, trying to clear it.

  His thoughts were not his own; he knew that. He was not a man prone to feelings of helplessness. Asmodeus’s iniquitous influence was rushing through Drake’s blood, clouding up his mind, and turning the air around him to thick sludge through which it was nearly impossible to move.

  He moved anyway, forcing one leg in front of the other.

  He knew that eventually Asmodeus would let him go. After all, if he didn’t, Drake would never be able to make his decision of his own free will. The Hell Lord was simply testing him. Trying him. Proving a point.

  Again.

  Drake closed his eyes as a sudden wave of immense pleasure rushed through him. It was the kind of pleasure one experienced when wielding enormous power. It was a… tall kind of sensation. The feeling one might get when looking down upon the entire world and knowing it all belonged to you.

  It was overwhelming. Drake was at once lost in it, caught up in its shimmering tide of supremacy, dominance and command. He felt magic surge through his body, pulsing hot and ready and willing. He wanted to destroy and create and take. He wanted everything… and he knew that he could have it.

  This can be yours son, a voice whispered through his mind. Accept it.

  It was the power that came with taking the throne of Nisse, the kind of power that things either bent – or broke – before. Nothing could withstand it. The only problem with Nisse’s power, with Drake’s father’s power, was that it was tainted.

  Drake could become king so easily. Asmodeus was right. Drake had left a part of himself in Hell’s circles when he’d decided to leave Abaddon all those years ago. The choice had split him in two, and there wasn’t a day that went by that Drake took his freedom for granted.

  But if he did become king, he would cease to be Drake of Tanith, and all vestiges of whatever kind of goodness yet remained within him would shrivel up and blow away on the next hot, ash-laden wind.

  He wasn’t willing to lose that. Not after everything he’d done for millennia to hold on tooth and nail to what tiny part of his soul he still had left. Especially not now…. Not with Raven.

  She made him stronger.

  “No.” Drake’s eyes opened and his jaw set. He felt his gaze heat, molten metal in a face so determined, so dead-set on not giving in, no man in his right mind would have taken him on in that instant.

  There was a sigh, a feeling more than a sound, and Asmodeus’s magic slipped away. With the ebbing of power receded the weakness as well. The Dark Lord’s presence diminished quickly, releasing Drake from its tenacious and tenebrous hold.

  Drake slid down along the trunk of the tree he’d been leaning against and closed his eyes. He was trembling and his breath shook. His jet black hair was damp with sweat. He’d never felt so weary.

  It was more than the Witherlands. It was more than his father. Either one alone would have been enough to destroy the mind, body and spirit of a mortal. Drake took them in stride and though they had scraped the edges of his soul with poison-tipped claws, he’d somehow kept them from killing who he was. He’d managed to hold their evil at bay.

  It was this final thing he had to do that was destroying him. It was knowing what he now had to do that was eating him alive and draining his will. More surely than venom did it pollute his system, for it took away the one thing he’d always had no matter what: Hope.

  Drake ran a shaky hand over his face and rested his head against the trunk of the tree behind him. His father had given him a week. One week to decide – one week to say goodbye. And then he would either claim is rightful place as heir to the Abaddonian throne of Nisse – or Asmodeus would take Raven Winter as his bride.

  T
he moment his father had looked into his eyes and whispered her name, Drake had known he was lost. His father could see clear into the core of his soul. Asmodeus knew that Drake loved her, and that he’d never loved another.

  And now he would lose her forever.

  That was the choice he was afforded. Did he lose her to the world as he took over as Hell’s king, or did he watch her be taken by his own father?

  With a sinking heart, Drake saw the throne of Nisse before his mind’s eye. He saw himself upon it – a fragment of the man he once was and yet so much more. A monster, a Dark Lord, the ruler of the Nine Circles. The king of Hell.

  And Raven?

  Winter. For the briefest of moments, he saw her seated beside him on a throne of her own, her gorgeous black wings unfurled gracefully behind her, and her tri-colored eyes glowing in the frame of her beautiful face. She sat regally, her gown hewn of silk and diamonds – the only things good enough for her.

  She would be the perfect queen. It would be so easy. As Nisse’s ruler, Drake would have the power of nine limitless kingdoms at his fingertips. If he wanted Raven as his own queen, he could take her. He could even make her want it. Or at least he could make her think she wanted it.

  They’d barely met and, on the surface she barely knew him. But her soul recognized his just as his did hers. The moment he’d seen her face in the elf prince’s scrying pool, he’d known. And his world had been turned on its ear.

  She’d even taken his blood.

  Drake groaned low as he recalled the memory and awakened to the familiar, driving hunger she brought to life within him. They were bound – they always had been. There was no turning away from that kind of desire.

  He might have to take his father’s place. He might have to become the infamous ruler his father now was. But maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t have to lose Raven at the same time.

  Yes…. The voice slid through his head. That’s it…. The words were not his own. His father’s last whispers caressed and soothed his pain, congratulating him for seeing the possibilities.

  No. What the hell am I thinking?

  Drake’s eyes flew open once more, now glowing as bright as full moons. The Lord of Nisse was indomitable. Drake should have known better.

  The bounty hunter of Tanith ran his hand through his damp hair and realized it was badly shaking. His soul and spirit weighed him down, and though his strength had for the most part been returned to him, he was still weak enough that it was clear he needed to feed. It had been too long and he’d been through too much.

  He stood, stepped away from the tree, and turned in a slow circle, truly seeing his surroundings for the first time. He cocked his head and listened. There were pipes playing nearby. And drums. They sounded like the accompaniments of street performers. It was late in the afternoon and the city of Trimontium wasn’t far. Once he got close enough, he could transport himself inside. He was able to do this over short distances, though that particular magic was more draining than most. He normally required feeding soon afterwards, and in this case, as hungry as he already was, he might need to do so beforehand as well. Devils were not able to use their magic without consuming life. Most devils simply ate meat with every meal.

  Raven Grey was an exception. It was one of the many things Drake found intriguing about her. Because she was the Chosen Soul, because she possessed a soul that had lived thousands of lives, she was too enamored with life to take it from anyone or anything else for any reason other than self-defense. She did not consume meat. Instead, she drank blood. And it was always freely given.

  Drake closed his eyes briefly as another wave of hunger and need rolled through him, laced with the pleasure of the memory of Raven sinking her sharp little fangs into his wrist.

  When he opened his eyes again, his own fangs had grown. He could feel a darkness there, ebbing closer. He definitely needed to feed. But, as it was for Raven, it was never a problem for Drake either. Blood could be found anywhere.

  Drake took a moment to settle his nerves and get himself under control before he followed the music he heard until he came to the road that led into the city. As usual, merchants were traveling in and out of the city, along with delivery services and performers of various kinds. Drake stopped at the edge of the road and considered the guarded gates. They were manned by elves and there was no way that Astriel’s men were going to allow Drake of Tanith back into Trimontium. He would have to transport for certain.

  Once inside, he needed to locate Raven. And then he needed a plan.

  *****

  “Loki?”

  Loki froze where he stood in the middle of the vast field of late-day-lit sunflowers that graced the land around Haledon’s temple. He wasn’t sure he’d just heard what he thought he’d heard. But the sound came again.

  A footstep, light and instantly recognizable. And then his name. “Loki?”

  Loki whirled around, his eyes wide, his heart racing. “Raven!”

  His sister stood at the end of the same row of towering blooms. She wore the magical clothing that had been fashioned for her in Caina by her father’s tailors. She also wore a shimmering light blue cloak and a flattering, delicately hewn circlet. Her hands were clasped nervously before her. Her expression was one of ambivalence; half wariness, half relief.

  Loki wasted no time. He was off and running toward his twin without a second thought. She let out a whoosh of air when he jerked her into his arms and bear hugged her. And then, a second later, she was hugging him back just as tightly.

  “I’m so sorry I scared you,” she said, her voice tight due to her temporarily compressed air passages. “I couldn’t get out and I didn’t even know that I couldn’t get out.” She was mumbling now, speaking quickly, but he understood perfectly.

  “It’s okay, sis. It’s not your fault,” he told her. Finally, and very slowly, he pulled away. She had tears on her cheeks. As a breeze brushed by him and chilled his own face, he was surprised to find that he did as well. “How did you get here?” he asked.

  “Zeta helped me. But I had to make a promise in exchange,” she told him.

  Loki’s face dropped a bit. “What promise?” he asked warily.

  She shook her head. “I don’t want to talk about it right now,” she said, “and anyway it’s not important.”

  Loki frowned. “If a promise to the elven princess isn’t important, what is?”

  “Finding Drake and getting him out of the prison realm he was sent to.”

  Loki’s eyes widened. “You want to go to the Witherlands?” Concern blossomed within him. It wasn’t exactly an everyday occurrence to step into another realm, and he certainly had mixed feelings about Tanith. Besides, beings capable of opening portals to other realms were few and far between. He wasn’t one of them and neither was Raven.

  But Raven didn’t reply; the look on her face was answer enough.

  “So you do plan to go after Tanith,” Loki said, stepping back a bit. He ran a rough hand through his shock of fine blond hair. “I know what he is, Raven.” He looked down, closed his eyes to take a deep breath, and then looked up again. “While you were gone, I found out. Drake is the son of Asmodeus.”

  Raven looked at him with an unreadable expression on her face. And then she blinked. “I know.”

  Loki wasn’t surprised by this statement. His sister and the bounty hunter had shared something powerful during the battle with Cruor. Loki knew his sister. She wasn’t stupid. She was stubborn and sometimes she was naïve, but she had the Chosen Soul inside of her, and that soul most likely recognized a soul as powerful as Drake of Tanith’s.

  “I imagine you’re not going to let this drop,” he said. “The ork was right.”

  “What ork?”

  “Drake’s friend, goes by the name of Grolsch. He came looking for me yesterday. He’s out hunting at the moment but will return at night fall. He wanted to help get you out of Eidolon in the hopes that you would in turn help him get Tanith out of the Witherlands.”

&nbs
p; “I don’t know how he thought I would be able to help,” Raven said, shrugging. “But I’m sure there is more power in numbers.”

  “Alright,” Loki breathed. “We can talk about it. But first, I have to ask. Will the prince be coming after you again?” Lord Astriel was notorious amongst the humans of Trimontium. They adored him and they were terrified of him. He always got what he wanted – and it was quite clear that he wanted Raven. Yet, here she was, standing in front of Loki. It boded ill.

  Raven looked bewildered. “I honestly don’t know,” she said. Her voice sounded thin, perhaps tired. “But we shouldn’t wait around to find out. And one sure way to escape the elf prince is to go to the one place he probably wouldn’t follow us.”

  “The Witherlands,” finished Loki. Fine, he thought. He honestly had no plans and no idea of what else to do anyway. “Very well. The first thing we need to do is find someone who can open a portal.”

  Raven looked up. “Can’t you do it? Or you and some of the other priests?” She looked clearly confused.

  Loki ran a nervous and frustrated hand through his hair. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “That’s not something Haledon’s acolytes are good at doing.” And he wasn’t sure that even if they were, he would succeed if he tried. He had a strange feeling inside; as if he’d been abandoned. “But remember those stories father told us when we were little? About the people who walked through worlds?”

  His memory of the stories was vague, but now that he recalled even the little that he did, he couldn’t help but wonder whether his father, who had traveled far and wide as a bard, might have been talking about portals to other realms. It was a place to start.

  “I do,” Raven said. “It’s a place to start,” she told him, echoing his own thoughts.

  Loki looked at his sister, noting the worried tightness to the way she held her lips. Aster Hollow wasn’t going to welcome them back with open arms. They’d inadvertently caused the deaths of several of their own and then escaped from Aster Hollow’s prison. If they returned to their home, they were going to have to do so under the cover of darkness and cloaked in quiet.